Blog Tour and Book Excerpt for "Sister Rosa's Rebellion"

Book Title: Sister Rosa’s Rebellion,

The Sixth Meonbridge Chronicle

Series: The Meonbridge Chronicles

Author: Carolyn Hughes

Publication Date: 4th April 2025

Publisher: Riverdown Books

Pages: 446

Genre: Historical Fiction

Sister Rosa's Rebellion

The Sixth Meonbridge Chronicle

Carolyn Hughes

Blurb:

How can you rescue what you hold most dear, when to do so you must break your vows?1363. When Mother Angelica, the old prioress at Northwick Priory, dies, many of the nuns presume Sister Rosa – formerly Johanna de Bohun, of Meonbridge – will take her place. But Sister Evangelina, Angelica’s niece, believes the position is hers by right, and one way or another she will ensure it is.Rosa stands aside to avoid unseemly conflict, but is devastated when she sees how the new prioress is changing Northwick: from a place of humility and peace to one of indulgence and amusement, if only for the prioress and her favoured few. Rosa is terrified her beloved priory will be brought to ruin under Evangelina’s profligate and rapacious rule, but her vows of obedience make it impossible to rebel.Meanwhile, in Meonbridge, John atte Wode, the bailiff, is also distraught by the happenings at Northwick. After years of advising the former prioress and Rosa on the management of their estates, Evangelina dismissed him, banning him from visiting Northwick again.Yet, only months ago, he met Anabella, a young widow who fled to Northwick to escape her in-laws’ demands and threats, but is a reluctant novice nun. The attraction between John and Anabella was immediate and he hoped to encourage her to give up the priory and become his wife. But how can he possibly do that now?Can John rescue his beloved Anabella from a future he is certain she no longer wants? And can Rosa overcome her scruples, rebel against Evangelina’s hateful regime, and return Northwick to the haven it once was?

Buy Links:

Universal Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/bWaYM0

This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.

Author Bio:

CAROLYN HUGHES has lived much of her life in Hampshire. With a first degree in Classics and English, she started working life as a computer programmer, then a very new profession. But it was technical authoring that later proved her vocation, word-smithing for many different clients, including banks, an international hotel group and medical instruments manufacturers.

Although she wrote creatively on and off for most of her adult life, it was not until her children flew the nest that writing historical fiction took centre stage. But why historical fiction? Serendipity!

Seeking inspiration for what to write for her Creative Writing Masters, she discovered the handwritten draft, begun in her twenties, of a novel, set in 14th century rural England… Intrigued by the period and setting, she realised that, by writing a novel set in the period, she could learn more about the medieval past and interpret it, which seemed like a thrilling thing to do. A few days later, the first Meonbridge Chronicle, Fortune’s Wheel, was under way.

Seven published books later (with more to come), Carolyn does now think of herself as an Historical Novelist. And she wouldn’t have it any other way…

Author Links:

Website: https://carolynhughesauthor.com

Twitter: www.x.com/writingcalliope

Facebook: www.facebook.com/CarolynHughesAuthor

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/carolynhughes.bsky.social

Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/carolyn-hughes

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/Carolyn-Hughes/author/B01MG5TWH1

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16048212.Carolyn_Hughes

Book Excerpt:

Excerpt 5 from Chapter 3

The last time [Rosa] had seen John was in July. The time before that – in April – was an occasion she recalled quite often, despite the distress the memory brought her.

Along with his advice, John always passed on news of her family and his own in Meonbridge, news that had invariably given her pleasure and even joy. Until, that was, five months ago, when what he came to tell her had brought immeasurable grief.

It was such a beautiful spring morning, the sky blue, the air warm if a little breezy. Birds were singing in all the hedgerows. Rosa had not yet recovered from the fever that had kept her in bed for days, but the warm weather had encouraged her to go outside for a short while. She was in the priory garden, speaking with Sister Beatrice, who, as cellarer, had responsibility for managing the potagers and orchards. The garden afforded a view of the little road that snaked through fields and woodlands to reach the priory’s gate. She and Beatrice both turned at the distant sound of galloping hooves and, far away, but coming rapidly closer, was a horse, almost obscured by the clouds of dust rising from the road.

The horse slowed only feet from the gate, snorting and panting. Its rider leapt from the saddle before he had even brought his mount to a full halt and, running to the gate, hammered upon it and shouted for attention.

But Rosa and Beatrice were already hastening towards him, the folds of their skirts clutched in their hands to stop them tripping up. Rosa could see that it was John.

She called out to him. ‘What is it, John? Is something amiss?’

She ran the last few yards and, when he turned towards her, John’s face was grey and stricken beneath the glaze of sweat, and his eyes were wide. He stepped forward, one hand clasped to his chest, the other held out to her.

‘What is it?’ she said again, this time in a whisper. ‘Has something happened in Meonbridge?’

She could see his eyes were filling with tears. ‘Oh, Rosa…’ he began, his voice hoarse, and terror overwhelmed her.

‘What has happened?’ she cried, her voice rising in panic.

‘I can scarcely bear to tell you,’ he said, ‘but I’ve been sent to do so, so I must. Dickon, the lord of Meonbridge, commanded it––’

‘Dickon commanded it?’ Only moments later the implication of his words had sunk in. ‘You mean our nephew is now Meonbridge’s lord?’

‘He is.’ He brought both hands up to his face. ‘Oh, Rosa, how much I wish I wasn’t the bearer of this news…’ He swallowed. ‘Her ladyship is dead––’

She cried out then and Beatrice at once was at her side, her arm about her shoulders. Repeating his words, not quite grasping the truth of them, she sank to her knees on the dusty road, and Beatrice dropped down with her, cradling her against her ample bosom.

Her chest was tight and, for several moments, she found it hard to breathe and felt a little dizzy. At length she looked up at John, demanding to know how Mama had died and why she had not been called to her bedside if she was ill.

He shook his head. ‘But Lady Margaret wasn’t ill, Sister.’ He lowered his gaze to the ground. ‘She was murdered––’

Rosa thought she might swoon. Her gentle, noble, God-fearing mother murdered? How was something so shocking possible? For long moments she was unable to believe John’s words. She leaned back against Beatrice, trying once more to catch her breath. At length, knowing John would not tell her anything that was not true, she looked up at him again and let out a shuddering sigh. She then braced herself and, taking Beatrice’s supportive arm, eased herself once more to her feet.

‘But who might have wished my mother dead?’ she asked.

At that moment, the porter opened the gate and Beatrice suggested they all went indoors, giving instructions to the man to find the stable lad and tell him to take charge of John’s wild-eyed, sweating horse.

Rosa was grateful for the opportunity to sit and sip a cup of wine. It calmed her. John accepted a large cup of ale, and sat in front of her, perhaps waiting for her to continue the conversation. Rosa found herself shivering, and wondered if the fever was returning. Beatrice must have noticed, for she came with a woollen blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

‘Shall I leave you?’ Beatrice whispered in her ear, but Rosa shook her head.

‘No, please stay, dear Beatrice. I so welcome your support.’ She turned to John. ‘So, who did wish my dearest Mama dead?’

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